


The Girl Who Lived A Lie

by hemustbeprettylo_ki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous time setting, BAMF Minerva McGonagall, Black Hermione Granger, Dark Golden Trio, Dark Magic, Dark Side is Okay, Don't Like Don't Read, Dumbledore Being a Dick, EXTREME Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Fuck You JK Rowling, Gen, Genderbending, Gryffindor Ron Weasley, Harry Looks Like Her Mum, Harry and Voldemort Are Platonic Soulmates, Harry is Not Oblivious, Harry is a Little Shit, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Platonic Relationships, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Harry, Teenage Tom Riddle Has No Time For Gender Constructs, They Are Better Than Dumbledore at Least, Tom "What The Fuck Is Gender" Riddle, Tom Riddle And Voldemort Become Different People, Tom Riddle Will Wear Makeup And Heels And Still Fucking Kill You, Tom Riddle is Sane-ish, Trans Female Character, Trans Hermione Granger, Voldemort Disapproves, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Traditions, Wizards are Idiots, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13559862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hemustbeprettylo_ki/pseuds/hemustbeprettylo_ki
Summary: A terrible, deep, dark secret that hung over the Dursley's perfect little house and their perfect little lives like a dark cloud, festering and growing with each passing year since the 1st November, ten years ago. This secret was a small girl, now of almost eleven years of age, named Harriet Potter, Harry for short.Genderbent HP AU(basically i got tired of JK constantly adjusting what she's written when criticised and decided to say fuck it and write my own canon with actual queer and POC representation.)Side Note: I am literally a foetus - I was not born in the 90s, I have no point of reference for 90s culture, the only 90s TV Show I am even remotely interested in is One Foot in The Grave and the life of an elderly gentleman complaining is not something to base a HP fanfic off - for that reason this is set in modern times.Please do not comment and tell me how I should be writing, if you want the story to go differently be my guest and write a HP fanfic yourself, your way like I am writing this MY way. Have a nice day.





	1. The Girl Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Any recognisable passages are from the book. Obviously as time goes by there will be more and more canon divergence.
> 
> Disclaimer: MODERN SETTING, I WAS NOT A 90s KID

Chapter One: The Girl Who Lived

 

Mr and Mrs Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.  They had a nice three bedroom house in the middle of a quiet suburb, their neat garden was always well kept, the flowers constantly blooming and everyone admired the shiny, new car sitting in their driveway, curtesy of Mr Dursley’s promotion.

           Mr Vernon Dursley was the direction of a company called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a large man (one may even call him obese) with a thick beefy neck and a round, ruddy red face, and thanks to the impressive, wiry moustache decorating his top lip, Vernon Dursley closely resembled an old, fat walrus. Mrs Petunia Dursley was the complete opposite of her ‘big boned’ husband. She was tall and whip-cord thin, almost as spindly as a house spider in appearance, with wispy blonde hair that she constantly wore in a complex array of pinned back curls. Through some kind of science experiment no doubt, the couple had managed to produce a child. The child in question was a plump, piggish little boy by the name of Master Dudley Dursley. He had a round, ruddy face reminiscent of his father, greedy, dark eyes and a thatch of blond hair inherited from his mother, a thatch of hair that was almost always damp with sweat from the sheer amount of physical energy he had to exert, lugging his body around.

 

The Dursleys may have had everything they wanted, and they may have liked to pretend that they were perfect, they also had a secret. A terrible, deep, dark secret that hung over their perfect little house and their perfect little lives like a dark cloud, festering and growing with each passing year since the 1st November, ten long years ago. This secret was a small girl, now of almost eleven years of age, named Harriet Potter, Harry for short.

Harry was the daughter of Petunia’s late sister; Harry did not know her mother’s name, nor did she know the name of her father. All Harry had ever been told that her parents had died in a car accident because her father was driving drunk when Harry was only a year old. The accident left her with nothing but a memory of a woman screaming, a flash of green light, and a large scar staring in the centre of her forehead and traveling down the left side of her face in the shape of a lightning strike.

Harry was a quiet child, far removed from the loud, demanding Dudley she had grown up with. She was a petite little thing, barely four and a half foot, and her body was compromised of sharp lines and harsh edges. Her eyes seemed too large for her heart shaped face and were a queer shade of piercing, emerald green, cat-like in intensity and framed by thick, sooty lashes. Her hair was long and thick to the point that the copper coloured curls were impossible to tame. Aunt Petunia had tried to cut it one day, tired of seeing the tangled, messy ponytail that Harry swept her tresses into. The haircut had been choppy and unprofessional; it was horrible and still looked tangled. The morning came and to Petunia’s horror and Harry’s glee, the vibrant red curls had regrown. Harry had spent the next three days inside her cupboard.

 

Ten years ago, Harry had appeared on her aunt and uncle’s doorstep. Barely a year old and wrapped only in blankets, Harry had been discovered as Petunia put the milk bottles out, scaring the woman half-to-death. Ten years ago, an entire community raised a glass and toasted to “The Girl Who Lived”.


	2. The Vanishing Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the zoo goes horribly wrong.

Chapter Two: The Vanishing Glass

 

In the ten years it had been since Petunia discovered a dozing eighteen month old Harry on her doorstep, it was safe to say that Privet Drive hadn’t changed at all. Only the photographs decorating the stairwell and the mantelpiece in the living room of number four truly showed the progression of time in the form of multiple unflattering photos featuring what appeared to be a blond and pink beach ball dressed in an array of hideous one pieces. The photos steadily changed, Dudley Dursley was no longer a baby you see, and so the beach ball was gradually replaced by a round, red-faced boy. In these newer photos he could be seen riding a bike, sitting on a swing and in one particularly unbecoming photo, flailing around in a pool in what was probably an attempt to learn how to swim but looked more like trying to force a rubber bouncy ball to stay at the bottom of a body of water. The photos decorating the Dursley home held absolutely no indication that another child lived there too.

                Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. The sun had already begun its rise into the sky and in just a few short seconds ti-

“Up! Get up! Now, girl!” Ah yes, there it was. The lovely shrill voice of Harry’s Aunt Petunia was the first sound Harry heard at the start of each day.

Harry awoke with a start and a quiet unladylike snort. Her aunt rapped on the door with her bony knuckles again.

“Up,” She screeched, voice reaching a new decibel. Harry groaned in ascent, and heaved herself into a sitting position against the wall of her cupboard. She heard her aunt trotting dutifully back to the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being placed on the hob echoed around the empty house. Of course, it was a weekend, Vernon and Dudley wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. Harry frowned and tried to remember the dream she had been having. There was a man’s voice; it was soft but cold at the same time. There had been shouting too. Harry wasn’t sure, but she was sure it wasn’t a bad dream; just a weird one.

   There was a sound of trotting coming towards the door to her cupboard. Aunt Petunia was back outside the cupboard, probably with a spatula in hand.

“Are you up yet?” Petunia demanded; Harry could picture the deranged glint in her watery blue eyes.

“Nearly,” Harry yawned, stretching up and thankfully being small enough that she could stretch without touching the top of the cupboard under the stairs.

“Well get a move on,” Petunia snapped, “I want you to look after the bacon. Don’t let it burn. I want everything perfect for my Dudder’s birthday.” Her voice turned horribly sweet and sappy towards the end and Harry pulled a face of disgust, barely muffling a groan; how could she have forgotten?

“What was that?” Petunia was back in screaming pterodactyl mode apparently.

“Nothing, nothing,” Harry mumbled, pulling on the light switch and scanning her cupboard to see if she could spot where she had left her glasses. It almost made Harry scoff to think of her glasses, they did absolutely nothing to help her atrocious eyesight and honestly Harry couldn’t help but wonder why she even bothered with using them.

      Reaching under her bed, Harry grabbed a pair of yesterday’s socks, flicking a spider off one of them with a bored sigh, pulled them on and opened the door to her cupboard. With another sigh and a smile of grim determination, Harry padded down the hall towards the kitchen.

 

The worn kitchen table was almost covered in what appeared to be Dudley’s birthday presents. By the looks of thing he’d gotten the new games console that he wanted, not to mention what was obviously another television and what appeared to be a racing or BMX Bike. Why Dudley would have a use for a bike, Harry had no idea. Though she supposed it might make Dudley’s little game of Harry Hunting easier for him. Although she may not have looked it, Harry was incredibly fast. People would always overlook that due to the large, round glasses she wore, patched with cellotape and glue, many assumed she wasn’t any good at sports at all.

   Perhaps it was due to the near constant dark that she was kept in, she had always looked small and skinny for her age, even smaller and skinnier due to Dudley’s hand-me-downs that she was forced to wear. She had, had to find a belt and pinch it in order to make Dudley’s ratty t-shirt look more like a tunic than a bedsheet.

 

It was then Uncle Vernon decided to enter the kitchen, leering at Harry who merely ignored him and tended to the bacon. Despite the fact that Harry was never allowed to (nor did she want to) eat meat; the smell of frying bacon had always made her stomach gurgle pitifully. “Comb your hair girl,” Uncle Vernon barked as he lumbered over to sit on a chair that groaned in protest. Harry almost wanted to reply with, I can’t because you won’t give me one, but quickly realised that she did not want to get the belt today. About once a week, maybe twice if he was feeling extra vindictive, Uncle Vernon would leer over the top of his newspaper and shout that Harry needed a haircut. Harry had probably had more haircuts that anyone else in her year group, but it made no difference, the ginger curls would always remain unruly no matter how many times Aunt Petunia would take a pair of scissors to them. Her hair just simply grew as it wanted to – apparently all over the place.

              Harry had moved on to frying the eggs when Dudley finally decided to grace the Dursley’s with his ever-growing presence. As the years passed, Dudley grew to look even more like his father. He had a large, permanently pink face, not much neck, watery blue eyes and thick blond hair that always looked greasy. Aunt Petunia would often crow to anyone who listened that Dudley looked like a baby angel. Harry would crow quietly to herself inside the safety of her cupboard each night and morning that Dudley looked like a pink beluga whale in a blond wig.

 

    Harry placed the plate of egg and bacon on the table which was difficult as Dudley’s presents took up most of the limited space. Dudley meanwhile was taking a rather long time to count his presents, seemingly getting stuck each time on what came after twenty-six. His face suddenly fell and Harry edged away to stand beside the cooker, clutching the spatula in apprehension.

“Thirty-six,” Dudley said, looking up at his mother and father. “That’s two less than last year.” Harry resisted rolling her eyes, barely.

“Darling, you haven’t counted Auntie Marge’s, see, it’s under the big one from Mummy and Daddy.” Aunt Petunia cooed.

“All-right, thirty-seven then,” said Dudley, going puce in the face. Harry knew the signs of an oncoming tantrum and quickly began to shovel her small portion of fried egg into her mouth as fast as she humanely could without choking.

   Aunt Petunia obviously sense danger too, because she said quickly “And we’ll buy you another two presents whilst we’re at the zoo. How’s that my little pumpkin,” Harry snickered, more like plumpkin, “Two more presents, isn’t that alright?” Petunia implored, her eyes darted to the newspaper that Vernon had held up into front of his face.

        Dudley thought for a second, purple fading from his face back into the permanent pink that Harry knew was safe-ish. “Okay,” Dudley said mulishly before he tore into the nearest parcel. Uncle Vernon lowered the paper, moustache quivering as if it had a mind of its own. When Harry was younger, she had entertained the idea that Uncle Vernon’s moustache was actually a type of caterpillar, kind of like a creature she had once seen climbing up the cherry tree in the back garden, but when she looked again it had vanished.

Uncle Vernon chuckled, “Nothin’ wrong with a lad who wants his money’s worth.” Vernon’s multiple chins wobbled as he chortled to himself, Dudley completely ignoring him in favour of his presence and Petunia had trotted out of the room to go and answer the telephone that had begun to ring. Harry and Uncle Vernon watched as the red and gold wrapping paper on the presents fell away under Dudley’s pudgy hands to reveal the racing bike, a camera, a remote control car and aeroplane, seventeen new computer games, a camcorder, a new webcam and he was just ripped the paper of a new gold watch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone, her lips pursed as though she had been sucking on a lemon.

  “Mrs Figg has broken her leg, she can’t take her today.” Petunia said stiffly, jerking her head in Harry’s direction. Harry’s heart simultaneous leapt and fell whereas Dudley looked as though his mother had ripped his out and stamped on it. Harry didn’t mind Mrs Figg, she preferred her cats over the old woman but she was nice enough. Harry had always been left with the old lady on Dudley’s birthday and Harry was a little resentful of the things that Dudley got to do. However, being with Mrs Figg did mean being away from the Dursley’s.

“Well now what?” Petunia snapped; glaring at Harry with beady eyes full of suspicion like Harry was somehow responsible for Mrs Figg breaking her leg.

“We could phone Marge,” Uncle Vernon rumbled.

“Oh don’t be stupid Vernon, Marge hates the girl.”

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the Dursley’s to speak about Harry like she wasn’t there, or occasionally as if she were an utter inconvenience like having a slug on the bottom of one’s shoe.

“Uh what about what’s-her-face, your friend…Yvonne?” Vernon ventured once more, rubbing a sweaty palm on the back of his even sweatier neck.

“On holiday in Paris,” Aunt Petunia muttered, sounding rather put out that this ‘Yvonne’ was off on holiday while she was stuck at home. Harry decided it was time to place one of her cards on the table.

“You could always just leave me here.” She put in hopefully.

                Aunt Petunia looked like someone had shoved one of Vernon’s feet into her mouth.  “And come back and find the house in utter ruin with the neighbours staring, I think not.” Harry tried to protest but her defences went unheard. “We could take her with us; leave her in the car maybe?”

“The car’s new,” Vernon grunted, “I ain’t leaving that girl in there.” Honestly, considering the time of the month, Harry new if she was left in the car there was a large chance she would get heatstroke.

                Possibly at the lack of attention and possibly because there was a chance that Harry would be accompanying the Dursley’s on their excursion, Dudley began to cry. Loudly. He wasn’t really crying but still, he managed to force big, fat tears to run down his red face. He knew that if he screwed up his face like he was constipated and wailed shrilly, his parents would kneel down and do whatever they could to make him stop.

    “Diddydums don’t cry; Mummy won’t let her spoil your wonderful day.” Petunia cried, flinging her spindly arms around her son’s fat neck. Dudley smirked wickedly at Harry over his mother’s shoulder.

“I…don’t…want…he…hic…her…to…to…come! S…s…she…always…ruins…ever…everything!” Dudley yelled between exaggerated sobs.

                The doorbell rang suddenly and Dudley’s disposition changed.

“Oh Good Lord, they’re here already.” Petunia scrambled towards the front door, pleasantries were heard faintly and Petunia returned, this time with Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss, behind her. Harry’s stomach twisted. Piers, as his rat-like may have suggested, was a strange little boy, he was always trying to touch her and kiss her. Harry had kneed him where it hurts many a time because of his wondering spider-like hands. Piers was usually the one who held people’s arms behind their backs as Dudley punched them in the stomach.

Speaking of the little pig, Dudley had left no trace of his recent crying fit at all and he eagerly greeted his friend with nasty grin.

 

Half an hour later and Harry couldn’t believe her luck. She had the unfortunate task of sitting in the middle between Dudley and Piers but she was on the way to a zoo for the first time in her admittedly rather short life – she was not yet eleven after all. Due to the time limit, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had not been able to come up with a place to leave Harry so had just decided to take her with them. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house however without Vernon pointing a thick, sausage like finger at her and speaking so harshly that spittle flew out of his mouth and collected in his moustache.

    “I’m warning you now, _freak,_ ” Vernon had hissed, Harry disguised a flinch at the name he used for her. “Any funny business, _any at all,_ and you’ll be in that cupboard till Easter next year, do you hear me?” By the end of his tirade, Vernon was purplish in the face and had to lumber off to gulp down a glass of water to rehydrate after the exhausting activity he had just completed.

 

Honestly, Harry had completely given up trying to protest that she would do anything ‘ _freakish’_ as weird stuff would always happen around her. Once Petunia had tried to force her to wear a hideous jumper that Dudley didn’t want, try as she might, the jumper continued to get progressively smaller the more Petunia tried to force the jumper over Harry’s head. She hadn’t been punished for that as Petunia had muttered something about cheap fabric shrinking in the wash. However, once Harry had gotten into quite a bit of trouble as Dudley and his gang had been chasing her at school, she had nowhere to run from him and suddenly she had found herself on the roof. She had been severely punished after that.

But today, Harry had resolved to let nothing weird happen.

 

****

 

Perhaps Harry had overestimated what the day was going to be like. It was okay when they arrived, Dudley had demanded an ice cream, and so had Piers, so the Dursley’s trundled over to the lady selling ice creams and ice lollies out of a van. The Dursley’s bought huge double chocolate ice creams for both Dudley and Piers and were about to walk away when the lady asked if Harry wanted anything after complimenting her on the unusual colour of her hair and how lucky she was. Petunia had quickly bought a simple lemon ice lolly.

Harry though it wasn’t that bad as she licked at the sticky juice trailing down her fingers, watching a gorilla scratch at its belly. Harry though it looked remarkably like Dudley except it wasn’t blond and was probably a lot more intelligent.

At lunchtime they ate in the zoo restaurant and Dudley happened to throw his second tantrum of the day where he wailed about his Knickerbocker glory not being big enough. Vernon lumbered off to buy him a second one and Harry was actually allowed to finish the first one. Harry was amused at the looks the Dursley’s got from the other zoo patrons and found herself meeting the gaze of a zoo employee as she trailed after the Dursleys who had now finished and were moving out of the restaurant, towards the reptile house. The employee quickly gravitated towards the redheaded girl and she grinned at his genuinely surprised expression.

        “I have honestly never seen a child like that in my time here.” The man marvelled. Harry hummed and nodded, watching the Dursleys to ensure they didn’t quickly make a break for it.

“You get used to it,” Harry replied and she began to hurry when she spotted Aunt Petunia scanning the crowd for her. “Nice talking to you,” Harry blurted, darting past people to the reptile house. The employee frowned, his features rippling as he turned away from the small, copper-haired girl.

 

It was cool and dark in the reptile house with lit boxes lining all the walls. Inside were all sorts of lizards and snakes who were crawling or slithering over bits of wood and moss. Dudley and Piers wanted to see the huge, venomous cobras and pythons capable of eating people. Truthfully, Harry thought the last one was a bit far-fetched.

Dudley, with his beady, piggish eyes, quickly found the largest snake in the place. Harry marvelled at its size. The snake could have easily wrapped itself around Uncle Vernon’s car twice and probably crush it with a quick flex. But at the moment it looked as though it wouldn’t be moving nor doing anything like that for some time. The snake was in fact, fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass; Harry imagined that the view from the other side would’ve made Dudley look even more piggish. He whined at Uncle Vernon to make the snake move, the man brought his meaty fist up to the glass and rapped on it sharply. The snake didn’t budge.

“Do it again,” Dudley ordered bossily. Uncle Vernon did; still the snake did not move. “Boring,” Dudley muttered, waddling away and dragging Piers with him. Vernon and Petunia tottered after their grumpy son. Harry looked this-way-and-that, checking to see if the Dursley’s had really gone. She moved in front of the snake tank and looked intently at the large, mottled green and brown serpent. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that the snake had actually died of boredom – no company except snotty nosed brats would be enough to make Harry want to just sleep and ignore the world around her.

                The snake suddenly opened one beady, black eye. Slowly, very slowly, it raised its head until it was eyelevel with Harry.

 

_It winked_

 

Harry stared. She quickly looked around, ginger curls hitting her in the face as she whipped her head from side to side to see if anyone had seen. No one had. She was alone in this section. She looked back at the snake too and winked back. Feeling rather stupid. The snake seemed to pointedly look in the direction that Dudley and trundled off too. It seemed to radiate an air that suggested it got that kind of behaviour all the time.

“I know,” Harry sighed quietly, “I get it too, must be really annoying for you.”

The snake nodded vigorously. Harry smiled softly. “So you’re from Brazil right?” Harry asked as she glanced at the brightly lit plaque that declared the snake to be a ‘ _Boa Constrictor, BRASIL,’_

“Was it…” Harry trailed off, “Was it nice there?” She asked quietly. The boa constrictor jabbed the tip of its tail towards the sign. There under its species was: _This snake was bred in captivity._ “Oh, I see – so you’ve never been to Brazil?”

     As the snake shook its head sadly there was a deafening bellow of “DUDLEY, COME LOOK AT WHAT THE SNAKE’S DOING!”

Dudley came waddling up and Harry quickly scrambled back to avoid being thrown to the floor as Dudley pressed his sweating body against the glass of the pen. What came next was so unexpectedly sudden, Harry was sure it wasn’t real.

 

The glass had vanished. Dudley and Piers leapt back with matching howls as the snake moved with surprising agility out of the enclosure and towards the exit. As it slithered past Harry, the girl could’ve sworn is hissed, “ _Thankssssss mate”_

                The reptile keeper was in shock, muttering about how the glass had vanished. Petunia was practically green and almost ready to faint, and Vernon. Oh God. Vernon was so purple his entire head looked to be in danger of exploding.

Dread settled in Harry’s stomach as Vernon’s gaze turned to her.

 

****

 

As Harry lay in her cupboard that night, fresh bruises decorating her upper arms and wrists and one particularly lovely one blooming on the right side of her face, Harry wished she knew what happened today.

It was quite funny. When she was younger, Harry had dreamed of making a grand escape much like the boa constrictor had today. She used to entertain the idea of a long lost relative riding in and sweeping her away with a flourish. That fantasy had quickly died and as the Dursleys got worse, she began to entertain the idea of running away or doing something horrible to the Dursleys. The thoughts of harming them scared her. But as she lay in the dark she remembered all that the Dursleys had done; thought of what they would do when morning came and the real punishment started.

Sometimes it seemed that strangers in the street knew her. Very strange, strangers often in funny coloured clothing that didn’t look like the clothes adults that Harry knew wore. They would often disappear though and Harry was back to being alone.

   At school, Harry had no one. No one wanted to befriend her in fear of Dudley and his little gang. No, Harry was sure that being lonely was the worst punishment possible. And Harry Potter was a very lonely, little girl. Although, this lonely little girl had absolutely no idea how quickly that was going to change.


	3. The Letters From No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's eleventh birthday draws closer and things take a drastic turn.

Little over a month and a half had passed since the incident of the vanishing glass and it had all but been forgotten. Of course the Dursleys still found an excuse to make Harry’s life miserable. In fact at this very moment in time, Harry was nursing a rather large red patch on her arm caused by the frying pan Petunia had lobbed at her to get Harry to not go and fetch the post like she always did. Lately Aunt Petunia had insisted on collecting the post herself and not letting Harry anywhere near the letterbox. Harry was perfectly happy to have that job crossed off her list of chores now that summer was officially here and the schools had broken up. Not having to collect the letters meant that Harry was usually sent straight out to tend to the front and back gardens, something Harry was more than happy to do. She found tending to the garden to be therapeutic and it meant that Dudley knew not to get his friends to initiate Harry Hunting. No, that activity was restricted to when Harry had free time and wasn’t meant to be doing chores.

 

       It was a Sunday morning when things took a drastic turn for the worse.

 

Harry was doing her usual task of cooking the scrambled eggs and frying off the bacon and making the toast didn’t burn under the grill and cooking the baked beans thoroughly so Dudley wouldn’t complain about one or two being cold. Speaking of the little pig, Dudley was currently shovelling dessert spoon-fulls of some kind of branded chocolate cereal into his ever moving mouth, clutching his Smeltings’ baton in a chubby fist and waving it in the air like some sort of flag. Why a _school_ required its students to own a baton Harry would never understand. Thankfully, Harry had come to the realisation that she would be going to a different secondary school to Dudley when she came across Aunt Petunia dying some of Dudley’s old clothes back and wringing out a bobbly looking skirt from the nearest charity shop.

      On this particular morning, Vernon was spreading copious amounts of marmalade on his thick slices of toast and muttering something about “No post on Sundays.” He wore a satisfied smirk under his thick moustache. Well, at least until something vaguely letter shaped whizzed out of the kitchen chimney and hit the back of Vernon’s ruddy head with a resounding _thwack._ Harry’s jade eyes widened. Vernon’s face turned a worrying shade of puce.

               

         There was silence for a while. No one dared to move.

 

Suddenly, hundreds of letters poured from the chimney, seemingly defying gravity as they shot around the room, creating a whirling vortex of heavy-looking envelopes. One landed beside Harry, obscured by the various pots and pans on the kitchen side. The green ink on the front of the thick envelope read:

 

_“Miss Harriet J Potter_

_Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey”_

Vernon, Petunia and Dudley seemed too preoccupied with the other letters still streaming out of the fireplace and collecting around their faces, hitting them repeatedly with satisfying sounding _thwacks_. Vernon was roaring with rage, Petunia shrieked shrilly and Dudley was attempting to bludgeon the letters with his Smeltings stick. Harry quickly shoved the letter into her cheap sports bra just in time as Vernon lumbered to his feet and bellowed, “Out, everybody out!”

         Both Harry and Dudley were cajoled out the kitchen by a hysterical Aunt Petunia.

“Get in there,” Petunia snarled, pointing a clawed finger at Harry’s cupboard. The small ginger girl obeyed her aunt without question. As she sat on the small bed crammed in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry attempted to drown out Dudley’s whining as he pleaded to know what was going on along with Vernon’s anger filled ranting and Petunia’s shrill response.

 

           Ten minutes passed until Harry was dragged out of her cupboard and handed a small, battered rucksack that upon inspection contained a change of Dudley’s hand-me-down clothes, Harry’s worn toothbrush and several pairs of threadbare pants that Petunia had found at a jumble sale. She had barely enough time to zip up the rucksack before she and Dudley were shepherded into the car alongside a crying Petunia.

There was barely enough time for the passengers to get buckled up before Vernon was revving the engine and tearing out of the driveway, down the road and hurtling towards the motorway. Dudley sniffled in the backseat next to Harry, by his desolate expression she knew that Dudley’s usual method of wailing till his wants were woes no longer hadn’t worked and Harry found herself pressing her lips together to stop chuckling at Dudley.

            Harry had no idea how long they drove for. Dudley passed out within what felt like the first hour. Petunia and Vernon sat stock still and in silence, Vernon’s beady eyes blazing with fury. Every time Harry shifted, she could feel the rough parchment of the letter rubbing against her skin.

Every so often, Vernon would make a sharp turn and mutter, “Shake em’ off, shake em’ off.” Harry was no certain that her uncle had gone completely insane, not that he wasn’t before.

    They continued to drive for hours without stopping except for Uncle Vernon needed to refill the petrol. Night had already fallen and Harry was struggling to keep her eyes open even with the constant din of Dudley’s wailing, he was screaming something about never having such a bad day in his life but Harry honestly couldn’t bring her-self to actually pay attention and even remotely care about her cousin’s incessant whining. It was honestly driving her up the bloody wall.

 

     Harry jolted awake just as Uncle Vernon stopped the car in a small parking bay on a cliff-face overlooking the swelling sea. Blearily the red-haired girl glanced out her window to see huge droplets of raining pelting down from the dark sky. Dudley was still whining to Petunia as Vernon lumbered out of the car and into the downpour, locking them inside the car. “It’s Monday,” Dudley whimpered to his mother, “Scream Street is on tonight and I want to stay somewhere with a television.” It took Harry’s sleep addled brain a moment to catch up, it was _Monday,_ tomorrow would be Tuesday and Tuesday was…Tuesday was her eleventh birthday. _Oh._ Harry’s birthday had never had much cause for celebration – in fact Harry was lucky if she got anything at all, last year she had been ‘gifted’ a wire coat hanger and a pair of mustard socks that used to belong to Aunt Petunia. Still, you only turned eleven once and the fact that Harry would be going to a secondary school without Dudley (in Uncle Vernon actually took them back home) was firmly planted in her mind, filling her stomach with fluttery feelings of hope.

    Uncle Vernon was back and was smiling; at least Harry assumed he was underneath the thick caterpillar of a moustache on his upper lip. “Come on,” He half-shouted, opening the door and allowing Harry to truly hear the sound of the rain hitting the ground. “I’ve found the perfect place, everybody out!” Shivering, Harry grabbed the battered rucksack holding her meagre amount of belonging and pulled the jumper securely around her thin body as she stepped out the car only to be buffeted by a strong gust of wind.

“It’s just out on that rock over there,” Uncle Vernon roared over the sound of the waves hitting the rocks below. “This kind gentleman has offered his boat and there’s a storm forecast for tonight.” Harry squinted trying to make out anything with her glasses that were completely the wrong prescription but all she could see was a blur on a much larger blur of black. A toothless old man waddled up to a gleeful Uncle Vernon and pointed at a small rowing boat bobbing on the grey waves. Petunia let out a strangled gasp, Dudley whimpered and Harry just blinked, used to Vernon’s erratic behaviour.

 

    The boat ride over was freezing, the wind whipped around the tiny boat, blowing Harry’s fiery hair across her face, she spluttered and tried to spit out the mouthfuls of hair but the tangled locks just wouldn’t listen. Saltwater splattered on her face and glasses and freezing cold rain had soaked all of them to the bone save for the old man rowing them out in his bright yellow anorak. After what seemed like hours on the rolling waves with Dudley screaming about how he was going to be sick, they finally reached what appeared to be a weather-worn shack on a large rock.

           The shack was horrible. It reeked of mould and seaweed; there were gaps in the wooden walls, rotting floorboards and suspicious looking stains on the sofa. The fireplace was damp and empty with a moth-eaten rug, if it could even be called a rug, set before it. There were only two rooms, what appeared to be the entrance/living room and a kitchen with a rickety looking double bed that most certainly would not support Uncle Vernon’s mass.

The ‘rations’ that Uncle Vernon had brought turned out to be a tin of spam, some dry crackers, four packets of crisps and four bananas. He had tried and was unsuccessful in his attempt to start a fire with the empty crisp packets and really Harry thought Vernon should have probably known better. Instead of getting angry however, Vernon just shrugged and lumbered away, barking at the rest of them to get ready for bed. He was in a surprisingly good mood and honestly Harry could see why, it wasn’t like anyone who wanted to send her letters would actually be able to find them.

 

       As night fell, the storm seemed to increase tenfold. The high waves crashed against the rocky outcrop, and through the gaps in the walls, small spurts of seawater was let in. Aunt Petunia had managed to find mouldy blankets and had created a makeshift bed on the sofa for Dudley, her and Vernon would share the bed and Harry was left to fold up the moth eaten rug and curl up on that with the thinnest blanket that Petunia had saved for her.

As the night went on, the storm raged furiously and as a result of the storm, Vernon’s snores and Dudley’s little piggish grunts, Harry was unable to sleep even the tiniest wink. Glancing up at Dudley’s watch strapped to a thick arm that dangled off the sofa, Harry was able to see that in ten minutes time she would be eleven years of age. Her stomach rumbled with hunger and she winced, trying to curl in on herself to lessen the squeezing sensation of hunger she was so used to. Harry watched the illuminated hands on Dudley’s watch tick and wondered briefly if the Dursleys would even remember her birthday.

 

Five minutes to go…

 

Four minutes…

 

Two minutes…

 

One minute, thirty seconds…Harry jolted at a crack outside the house…was that the waves? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

 

One minute to go…

 

Thirty seconds…twenty…ten…nine – Harry debated whether she should go and find the banana that Dudley had refused to eat…three…two…one

 

BOOM.

 

The entire shack shivered, Petunia bolted upright with a screech, Vernon with a grunt and Dudley with a scream that could rival the pitch of a seven year old girl. Someone was outside.


	4. The Keeper of the Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger calls for Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written when I was slightly tipsy so please forgive any mistakes. Next chapter: Diagon Alley.

 

The shack gave an almighty shudder again. Dudley whimpered and Uncle Vernon waddled into the living room holding a rifle in his chubby hands – so that was the thin package Harry had seen earlier. Briefly Harry entertained the idea that Uncle Vernon had no idea how to shoot a rifle and would end up accidently shooting himself…then she remembered Aunt Marge and how she bragged to Petunia about the hunting Vernon and Marge had done as teenagers and young adults.

   “Who’s there?” Vernon yelled over the din of the roaring waves. “I’m warning you, I’m armed.”

There was a pause and then –

 

_BANG!_

 

The door flew off its hinges and crashed down onto the stone floor, splinters flying off the mouldy wood, dust flew up around it in a cloud that billowed out along the floor.

     A large black shadow stood in the doorway, lightning flashing ominously behind the figure. As the figure stepped into the dimly lit hut, Harry’s verdant eyes widened. The giant figure was a man; his face almost completely obscured by a thick curly beard of black hair which Harry had difficult telling apart from the shaggy mane of the man’s grey tinted hair. Though behind the beard his beetle-black eyes seemed somewhat small, they glimmered warmly unlike the beady, piggish glare of Uncle Vernon. He shuffled awkwardly into the hut, huffing as he stared at the door. With a slight groan he bent and picked up the door, easily lifting it back onto its hinges with a satisfied smile and he clapped his hands together to rid them of dust. The noise of the storm outside was muffled slightly, the high pitched wind no longer causing Harry’s face to scrunch up in discomfort.

“Sorry ‘bout tha’, dun know me own strengt’ sometimes.” The giant chortled merrily, a flash of white teeth appeared in the masses of his beard. Harry was the only one who smiled in reaction to the giant man, Dudley had tried to hide himself behind his stick thin mother who in turn had hidden herself behind her whale of a husband which worked better than Dudley’s attempt at hiding…though Petunia’s head did stick up comically above her smaller husband’s.

The giant strode over to the saggy sofa which appeared to have deflated more after having Dudley sleep on it. He sat with a groan and a crack of old bones; the giant was apparently older than he looked. “Couldn’t make us a cup of tea could’ ya. It’s been a ‘ell of a journey to find ya’ seeing as I can’ Apparate.” Harry was unsure as to what ‘Apparate’ actually meant but she decided she had to answer the giant seeing as the Dursleys were frozen, stock-still out of fear presumably. It was a strange day when Aunt Petunia had nothing to say, Harry thought in amusement.

“I’m awfully sorry, but we currently don’t have a teapot or teabags, the fire isn’t even lit.” Harry said somewhat remorsefully; Uncle Vernon made a strange hissing sound not unlike an offended cat.

“Ah ya’ must be ‘arriet, I ain’t seen you since you were just a wee one.” Harry blinked and Aunt Petunia made a funny rasping sound, one hand clawing uselessly at the wall. The giant’s beetle black eyes had crinkled at the edges and Harry saw the barest hint of a warm smile stretched across the giant’s hairy face. “I gotta say, ya’ look more like ya’ mum than I thought, I half expected ya’ to look like ya’ da.” Before Harry could reply in elation at the fact that this giant knew her parents, Uncle Vernon found his voice and strode forward with his rifle clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“I demand that you leave at once, _sir,_ ” His tone was heavy with derision. The giant stood and quicker than  Harry thought a man of his sheer size could move, he snatched the rifle out of Vernon’s podgy hands and with three quick movements, bent the long barrel of the gun into a knot as if the gun had stopped being metal and was instead made of rubber. Vernon made a choked sound and backed hurriedly away, almost squashing Petunia against the wall with his bulk.

Now certain that the Dursleys would not be attempting to speak for some time, with no small amount of satisfaction, Harry smirked smugly and faced the giant.

       “I’m sorry if this sounds rude but, who exactly are you?” Instead of being offended, the giant gave a hearty chuckle that seemed to rattle the walls of the cabin as he once again settled into the sofa.

“Tha’s true, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Rubeus ‘agrid, just call me ‘agrid, keeper of the keys at Hogwarts School o’ Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Like on my letter,” Without a second thought, Harry launched her skinny body back to the rags where she had been sleeping and slipped the slightly crumped letter out from the tangled, moth-eaten blanket. Hagrid had not said a word, merely craning his neck around to viciously glare at the Dursleys.

“Are ya’ telling me that ‘arriet Potter don’t know anything ‘bout ogwarts other than what’s on her bleedin’ letter!” The giant’s voice was thunderous in his rage and she found herself instinctively shying away from the anger that suddenly blazed in his beetle black eyes. As if sensing Harry’s discomfort, he quickly turned back around to her and explained exactly what Hogwarts was. Throughout the explanation. Harry kept a close eye on Vernon and was mildly alarmed to see him turning varying shades of red.

As Hagrid was about to explain was Albus Dumbledore was supposedly the greatest Wizard of all time, Vernon snapped. “Stop! Stop right there, that is enough!” He roared, spittle flying from his lips and Harry was rather disgusting to feel a fleck land on her cheek. She shuddered and wiped it away with the baggy sleeve of the mustard yellow jumper she had been made to wear. “I forbid you to tell her anymore!” A far braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed and perhaps soiled themselves with fear when Hagrid directed a furious look at Vernon.

“Ya’ never told her, did ya’?” His voice was quiet, somehow recognising that Harry wasn’t particularly fond of raised voices. “I was there tha’ day, when Albus Dumbledore left her in your care…” Hagrid continued his tirade but Harry zoned out. Hagrid had been full of praises about the Headmaster Dumbledore, how he was a great, caring, kind Wizard, but somehow Harry was doubtful. Instead of feeling admiration for Dumbledore who had apparently done something with blood and helped cure something, she felt an acrid burning in her stomach, a feeling that was usually reserved for the Dursleys. Whoever this Dumbledore was, honestly she really didn’t care, had probably gone above the law and had been the one to _personally_ hand her over to the Dursleys…oh wait no, he’d left her on a _fucking doorstep_ in the beginning of November. Hagrid had apparently finished his rant and with determination set in his face, he turned back to Harry.

“Harriet Potter, your parents were magical folk and were killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You, Harriet Potter, are a Witch.” Petunia let out a strangled moan and sunk to the rotting floor of the shack. Harry sat in silence. It made sense. It was so utterly bizarre to think that magic was real but it made sense. Harry’s teeth clamped onto her bottom lip to stop it trembling and she blinked back hot tears from verdant eyes.

“I believe you Hagrid,” She stared at the giant before breaking into a slightly watery grin, “And I’d like it if you called me Harry.”   Hagrid’s face split into a wide smile, his eyes sparkling with tears and he nodded softly.

“Okay then, Harry.” In that moment, Harry swore she could’ve burst with happiness and a feeling of something so intrinsically _right._


	5. A Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, tipsy me needs to write more, this is the most productive I've been in a long while.

After the debacle that had happened after Harry had been told of her magical heritage, namely Uncle Vernon practically exploding and yelling about how he and Petunia had sworn to beat the magic out of Harry. Hagrid had essentially barricaded the Dursley’s in the next room and claimed the sofa for himself, letting Harry use his giant overcoat as a blanket. Under Hagrid’s coat that shifted slightly, apparently nothing to worry about, Harry genuinely had one of the best night’s sleep she’d had in years, Hagrid’s coat easily keeping out the cold which led to a dreamless night of calm for Harry.

 

When morning came, Vernon’s anger had not calmed in the slightest and Hagrid seemed to be on his way to doing something terrible to the Dursleys but thankfully, with one last insult that Harry didn’t really understand, Hagrid made the decision to leave, noticing that the early start to the morning would be advantageous in order to make the most of the day.

Hagrid had promptly grabbed the tattered rucksack that held Harry’s things, told her to get her shoes on and escorted her out the door, holding a frilly pink umbrella. For some odd reason the rain and storming winds didn’t touch either Harry or Hagrid and the winds that Harry logically knew should be below freezing didn’t even lift the ends of the saggy jumper she wore. Hagrid had proceeded to deposit Harry in the small rickety boat in which he had rowed across in, moored up beside the one that Vernon had borrowed the previous day, and as he sat his giant body inside the boat – which gave a creak of protest – he tapped the side of the boat with his frilly pink umbrella and off they shot over the rolling waves.

    The boat rise reminded Harry of a story she’d once heard about the sea parting because even though the waves were huge and towered over the tiny boat, nothing seemed the faze its path towards land and it appeared as though the waves moved around the boat, avoiding it completely.

 

       They reached the shore and moored the boat beside what may have once been a small yacht but now was essentially a collapsed heap of fibreglass. Hagrid had promptly led Harry through the tiny village, seemingly unaware of the stares that followed him, to a bus stop where they caught the next bus to London and Harry couldn't help but send daggers at the conductor who had openly gawked at Hagrid, she settled back into her seat though as Hagrid just chuckled kindly and patted her on the shoulder, shaking his bushy head. The long nature of the bus ride allowed Harry to finally read her letter without interruption, the yellowed parchment read:

 

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ **

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)_

_Dear Miss Harriet J Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1st September. We await your reply by owl no later than 31st July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

 

Enclosed with the letter was a list of items that Harry needed and her span at what she imagined it would all cost in the end despite Hagrid’s reassurances that her parents, Lily and James Potter, had left her a vast fortune as her dad was a Pureblood, whatever it meant, Hagrid’s face soured when he said the word.

 

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ **

****

**_Uniform:_ **

_First Year Students will require:_

  1. _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_
  2. _One pointed hat (black) for day wear_
  3. _One pair of protective gloves (Dragon Hide or similar)_
  4. _One winter cloak (black, fastenings able to change to House Colours)_



_PLEASE NOTE: ALL STUDENTS CLOTHING SHOULD CARRY NAME TAGS_

**_Set Books_ **

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by_ Miranda Goshawk

 _A History of Magic by_ Bathilda Bagshot

 _Magical Theory by_ Adabert Waffling

 _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by_ Emeric Switch

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by_ Phyllida Spore

 _Magical Drafts and Potions by_ Arsenius Jigger

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by_ Newt Scamander

 _Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by_ Quentin Trimble

 

**_Other Equipment_ **

_1 Wand_

_1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set brass scales_

**_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_ **

****

**_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_ **

****

“Can we really buy all of this in London, Hagrid?” Harry asked, looking dubiously up at Hagrid through her thick coppery hair. Hagrid winked and whispered conspiritually,

“If ya’ know where ta’ look.”

 

*

 

Harry had never actually been into London before and only knew a few things about London and what little she knew was mainly about the Great Fire of London in 1666, a year after the Great Plague, and honestly Harry sincerely doubted her knowledge of that particular school project would do her any good. However, Hagrid seemed fairly adept at navigating the crowds and many people seemed inclined to just move out of his way and from her position safely under Hagrid’s arm, Harry had a clear path to stick to.

Hagrid took her down to the underground and unfortunately proceeded to get stuck halfway through the ticket barrier much to the giant man’s chagrin, he finally managed to get free and quickly hustle Harry onto the already overcrowded tube train, although a few people did exit when they saw Hagrid’s hulking mass coming towards the doors which did free up a lot of space.

    From then on it was a simple matter of navigating their way back up to street level after riding for a couple of stops until finally, after passing what seemed like hundreds of shops Hagrid had come to a halt in front of a dingy looking pub, the sign above the door creaked as it swung in its rusted frame and it declared the pub to be ‘ _The Leaky Cauldron’._   Blissfully the pub was empty and Hagrid was able to hide Harry with his giant mass from the little customers at the dirty looking bar.

 

Relieved at being able to breath in air that didn’t have a stale taste, Harry was a little worried to see Hagrid muttering at a solid brick wall. Her worries were quickly abated though as Hagrid tapped tiles seemingly at random with his umbrella and Harry watched in awe as the bricks shifted and moved to create an archway big enough for someone double Hagrid’s size to fit through. Through the large gap, Harry could make out a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of view and she could hear the hustle and bustle of a busy street.

“Welcome ‘arry,” Hagrid said with a grin, “To Diagon Alley.”

 

Harry’s head spun and she tried to focus her eyes on the cobbles in front of her as the brightly lit shopfronts caused her eyes to ache with their neon colours and flashing lights.

“There we are,” Hagrid said in a satisfied voice, “Gringotts Wizardin’ Bank.” Looking up, Harry’s eyes practically bugged out of her head at the sheer size of the white marble building with huge spires kind of like a cathedral and columns that looked thicker than tree trunks.   Hagrid set off towards the huge stone steps and Harry had to half-jog just to keep up with Hagrid’s giant strides. As they hurried up the stairs, they passed a small bronze plaque by the doors and as Hagrid talked to the man in uniform at the door; Harry wandered over to take a closer look.

 

‘ _Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay dearly in their turn,_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there.’_

Harry frowned at the rhyming words; it didn’t seem like much of a warning. Instead it seemed like the words were trying to bait the reader, it wasn’t a warning at all: it was a challenge.

“Are ya’ coming ‘arry?” Hagrid called now just inside the open doorway. Harry tore her eyes away from the plaque and darted to Hagrid’s side and together they stepped into the large atrium of the bank, blissfully unaware of a man hidden in the shadows, watching the young Potter with a calculating expression.


	6. The Potter Vaults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds her large fortune, and a mysterious package is collected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author should be writing an essay about the prime minister's dominance compared to their cabinet's within the executive but fanfiction is much more fun. If only I could do this for my A Levels.

“I see ya’ saw tha’ sign by tha’ door.” Hagrid started Harry out of her dreamlike daze as her green eyes roamed over the heights of white marble inside the spotless atrium of Gringotts.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled somewhat distantly, “I think it was a challenge.” Hagrid snorted and shook his head, apologising when Harry looked somewhat disheartened.

“Wha’ I mean was tha’ you’d be mad to rob Gringotts, they say there are dragons and e’rything down in the bowels of this place.” He said hastily. Harry just blinked for a few moments.

“Dragons are real?”

    Hagrid chortled as they approached a goblin seated at the long, high counter that ran the entire perimeter of the bank, each desk was separated by a small wall and they all held a large set of gleaming golden scales. Some goblins that were not preoccupied by customers appeared to be weighing out multitudes of precious gems although one goblin was peering at what looked suspiciously like an eyeball so with a shudder Harry turned away from the sight and faced the goblin they had arrived in front of. It may have been a mistake. The goblin was likely a head shorter than Harry; which was really saying something considering her less than impressive height, he had a sharp, conniving looking face and pitch black eyes with little whites of the eyes or obvious pupils…just endless pools of black.

 

     “G’mornin,” Hagrid greeted rather loudly, though Harry suspected it was Hagrid’s usual speaking volume rather than his attitude towards the goblin. “We’ve wan’ ter take money out of Miss ‘arriet Potter’s vault.” The goblin peered over his gold-rimmed, half-moon glasses and roved his eyes over Harry’s tiny form, his upper lip curled revealing sharp, needle like teeth.

“And do you have her key?” The goblin’s voice was silky smooth and deceptively soft for a creature such as he, Harry couldn’t help but feel slightly unnerved. Hagrid mumbled something and began to root around in the great pockets of his overcoat, handing Harry things to hold which included a small bag of dog chocolates and a huge rung of keys until he finally grasped a tiny gold key, which looked comically small clamped in Hagrid’s meaty fingers, and handed it over to the goblin. Hastily, Harry handed back Hagrid’s belongings before her skinny arms began to ache. The goblin conspicuously wiped away some grime on the gold but nodded nonetheless, he smiled greasily. “Everything appears to be in order.”

“Oh yeah, I got somethin’ from Dumbledore, its ‘bout the You-Know-Who in vault seven hundred and thirteen.” Hagrid held out a grubby looking letter which the goblin read with distaste evident on his pinched face, holding the parchment between the talons at the tip of his skeletal fingers.

“Very well,” He sighed as if heavily put-upon, “I shall have Griphook take you down the both vaults.”

Another goblin suddenly appeared next to Harry, this one slightly younger in appearance with a slicked down mop of greasy black hair. Hagrid ushered Harry after Griphook as the goblin started at a rather swift pace towards one of the hundreds of glossy black doors lining the atrium.

 

“What’s the object in vault seven hundred and thirteen?” Harry asked, blinking up at Hagrid. The giant flushed and shook his head.

“Can’t tell you tha’ sorry, top secret ‘ogwarts business.” Harry frowned, then why would Dumbledore have told Hagrid to get the same object on the day he was introducing a student to the very idea of magic when Hagrid had until the 31st of August to get the object?

 

    The strange trio stepped into a long, dark corridor, Harry was slightly disappointed because she had expected more marble grandeur but instead was greeted by the cold and mildly damp-smelling interior of what looked to be the entrance to a complex series of cave tunnels.

A small cart was waiting for them on the start of a steep slope with rail tracks stamped into the rocky ground. The drop seemed to just appear and the ground disappeared beyond a certain point. Hesitantly following Griphook’s lead, Harry hauled her skinny, little body into the cart and squeaked when Hagrid’s hulking form rocked the seemingly fragile cart. All her instincts were screaming _BAD IDEA, BAD IDEA!_

The cart crawled forwards, achingly slowly and Harry’s body relaxed slightly until

 

_DROP_

Harry’s stomach flew up into her mouth as the cart nearly nosedived down the tracks. Harry held back a screech and instead her hands flew to the side of the cart and she dug her nails into the wood, holding fast as the cart made sickening jerks and twists round the corners, narrowly avoiding stalactites and stalagmites. Tears were pulled from Harry’s eyes and under any other circumstances she may have felt guilty about her hair constantly flying into Hagrid’s face but at this particular moment all Harry could focus on was the harsh pounding of her blood in her veins and the sharp whistling of the wind as they hurtled through the intricate tunnels and rode over sickening drops.

 

The cart finally stopped and Harry managed to drag her trembling body out of the hellish device, staggering over to the nearest wall, crouching down and taking several deep breaths. Looking up, Harry noticed that Hagrid looked rather green and even the goblin had paled and trembled as he walked over to the impressive double doors dominating the archway of the cave.

    “Miss Potter’s vault,” The goblin declared in a reedy voice, inserting the small gold key Hagrid had handed over into the tiny gold lock in the warped metal of the doors. A loud lock clicked and the doors slowly swung open, revealing a veritable treasure trove to Harry’s wide, disbelieving eyes. Gold, silver, and bronze coins were stacked high in a mountain that took up a large portion of the vault. Trunks and gilded chests were scattered haphazardly around the room and spotless shelves held multitudes of vials and bottles containing strange glowing liquids. Here and there were piles of precious gems, and a quick look in a dustless glass display case showed Harry neatly organised fine jewellery that sparkles in the oil lights. It was obvious that Vernon and Petunia were oblivious to the vault’s existence otherwise Harry was sure its resources would have been drained years ago.

 

Griphook waddled over to the large glass case and reached to take something from the lowest shelf, any higher and the small creature may have needed the wooden stepping stool situation beside what was probably a rolled up carpet, even Hagrid may have needed the stool to reach the topmost shelves as the display case reached up to the vault ceiling.

   Griphook made his way back over to Harry and pressed a solid gold ring with red insignia, into her small hand. The ring itself was huge in comparison to her spindly fingers and looked as though it may have fitted over Hagrid’s pinkie. “Your heirship ring,” Griphook explained, gesturing for Harry to put it on. As she slipped it over her left index finger, she was startled to see the gold band shrink to fit perfectly around her finger as if it had been that size all along.

“Wait just a minute,” Hagrid said hastily, “Dumbledore didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout an heirship ring, fact he said ‘arry was too young.” Griphook’s upper lip curled into a snarl.

“Dumbledore has no say in Gringotts business, I was instructed to issue Miss Potter with her rightful heirship ring and so I have. If Dumbledore has an issue he can raise it with Gringotts bank, not the young Heir.” Harry was slightly confused, she was an Heir and it was her right to have the ring, so why would Dumbledore not want her to have it, it’s not as if she had any power with the title of mere Heir to the fortune.  Hagrid seemed to fumble for words before he begrudgingly nodded.

“I s’pose it’s none o’ my business.” The giant huffed.

     Griphook turned back to Harry, staring at her with beady, black eyes. “Miss Potter, if you will please fill this bag,” He produced a small moleskin bag seemingly from nowhere, “With precisely fifty Galleons, thirty Sickles and twenty-five Knuts. Galleons are gold, Sickles are silver and Knuts are bronze. Seventeen Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. Do you understand?” It was a lot of information to take in but Harry knew that she needed to be rather swift as Goblins didn’t strike her as being the most patient species. Harry nodded demurely and quickly set about her task, counting out ten Galleons five times so as to make it easier on her brain. Strangely, all of the coins fit perfectly into the small pouch she had been given and it never seemed to get any heavier at all, magic was weird, Harry decided as she counted out the final three Knuts.

   “I’m done,” Harry said, gazing somewhat longingly at a simple silver chain on a bust inside the glass case of jewellery.

“Goblin wrought silver,” Griphook said suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

“The chain there,” Griphook pointed to the necklace Harry had been staring at. “An heirloom from the late Lady Dorea Potter neé Black, it was in her dowry if I’m not mistaken.”

“So she would have been my…” Harry trailed off hoping Griphook would continue.

“Dorea Black married Charlus Potter, their son was named Fleamont Potter and his marriage to Euphemia Potter neé Pyrites produced James Potter, your father.” Harry blinked. That short bit of information given to her in that very moment was the most she had ever heard about her family beyond Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. “In the back corner there, you will find a family tree tapestry; it can be shrunk and taken home should you wish to study it in further detail.” Harry glanced at the very back wall where a large tapestry took up most of the rocky face, thick gold thread created lines and boxes and elegant curves which Harry assumed were names.

“Oh can you, please!” Harry exclaimed. She would have to keep it away from the prying eyes of the Dursleys, along with her school materials but by God she was willing to do anything to have just a little more information about the world she had been so suddenly thrust into.

“Very well then,” Griphook smiled, revealing his pointed teeth but strangely Harry found that she returned the smile to Griphook as he quickly shrank the tapestry and with a flick of his hand, made the silver chain necklace levitate over to Harry, who grasped the heirloom and traced a finger over the single white teardrop diamond hanging from the centre chain-loop. A shrunken version of the Potter family tapestry was quickly presented to Harry and Griphook conjured another small pouch out of thin air once again for Harry to deposit said tapestry in.  That left Harry in a spot of bother, she slipped the chain over her head, lifted her thick curls of auburn hair off the back of her neck so the necklace could sit right but she found that she had no pockets in which to safely place to two pouches and given the state of Hagrid’s pockets she didn’t exactly trust him with her money and a family heirloom. Once again, Griphook came to the rescue, with a nod to Harry’s exclamation of thanks; the goblin pulled a large satchel from a pile of trunks, explaining the many features to Harry.

“If we shrink one of the trunks as well, you should save having to a buy a new one.” The goblin advised as Harry placed her moleskin pouches inside a secure zip pocket on the inside of the soft, grey satchel.

“Tha’ might be a good idea yanno.” Hagrid muttered, swinging his large arms awkwardly. “We may no’ have enough time ya’ see, Dumbledore wants me back a’ sunset.” Given how quickly the day had gone, Harry knew Hagrid was right to worry about the time.

“Quite,” Griphook agreed, gesturing for Harry to take her pick of the somewhat elaborate trunks available. Honestly, she didn’t want anything too flashy, in fact she knew if the trunk was fancy enough then the Dursleys would like attempt to see it. Her verdant eyes landed on a slate coloured trunk with black brocade around the squared rim and a large maroon fleur-de-lys in the centre of the textured faces of the trunk. Much like a Muggle suitcase, the trunk had wheels and an extendable handle and appeared to be the most practical trunk in the pile, especially because the other trunks were embellished with what looked like precious gems.

“This one I think, please Griphook.” Harry said, lugging the trunk out of the pile and presenting it to the silent goblin.

“Of course Heir Potter,” Griphook replied and Harry watched in fascination as the trunk shrunk before her very eyes, becoming the size of her moleskin pouches. Placing it securely in the main pocket of her satchel, Harry grinned at Griphook.

“Thank you so much,” She said enthusiastically, eager to finally begin her shopping in Diagon Alley, even if the crowds did give her a bit of a headache. Griphook nodded absently before turning around and briskly walking towards the entrance to the vault.

“Vault seven hundred and thirteen will require another journey to a lower level.” Griphook called over his shoulder. Hagrid and Harry begrudgingly took their place in the cart, waiting for Griphook to lock up the Potter Vault. “That vault is the main Potter vault, set up for Heir Potter, if on another day you wish to visit your parents’ vaults you can.” Harry was unable to voice her thanks for the offer as the cart once again shot off down the tracks, sparks flying as metal screeched on metal.

      The drops became steeper and longer, the torches bolted to the cave walls became more sparsely set out and directly below them Harry could have sworn she heard something roaring.

 

Finally the cart screamed to a halt and the trio quickly dismounted.

 

This vault had no keyhole. The metal doors stretched up the meet the roof of the alcove the vault had been carved out into. Well, Harry couldn’t really call them doors seeing as it was more of just a large blockade of intricately carved metal. As they approached, Harry staggered slightly, something semi-corporal pushing at her small body. “The wards,” Griphook explained; he too had to force his way through although the giant Hagrid had no need.

Apparently all it took was a touch of Griphook’s finger to open the door, the metal melting away for reveal a tiny shelf, holding a grubby looking package. Hagrid’s hand moved at a speed that Harry didn’t think the giant possessed, hiding the package away in one of the deep pockets inside his heavy overcoat.

“Right then, how ‘bout we get some shoppin’ done, ay?”  The giant chuckled. Harry nodded eagerly, scrambling back inside the cart and praying they managed to make it out of the depths alive.

 

            Harry’s eyes squinted shut as they stepped back into the bright atrium of the bank. Hagrid made his way towards the entrance, Harry about to follow before she remembered her manners. She turned and gave a small curtsy to Griphook. “Thanks for all your help today Griphook.” The goblin stilled for a minute before returning Harry’s smile. The girl nodded to herself before darting off to where Hagrid’s large form waiting at the entrance to Gringotts.

“What a strange girl,” A goblin beside Griphook said, mildly astounded. Griphook just nodded.

“Miss Potter certainly is, Garnok.” Griphook sighed, facing the older goblin. “Something is going on, I can feel it.” He said somewhat ominously. Garnok nodded sagely, his wrinkled face brightening.

“Olde Magyk stirs beneath our feet.” The elder replied mysteriously. Both goblins shared a secretive smile, watching Harriet Potter exit their bank.


	7. Holly and Phoenix Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of a filler than anything else, so sorry for the wait guys x

The dimly lit interior of Ollivander’s shop was a welcome change from the carnival of colours and light that was the outside of Diagon Alley. The small lamps scattered haphazardly around the room dappled soft yellow light around the small room painted a neutral brown, Harry felt strangely peaceful inside this musty smelling shop, at least she did until the wavering voice of Ollivander spooked both her and Hagrid.

   The old man limped out from a shadowy corner, chuckling softly, his piercing blue eyes honing in on the young Potter. “Apologies Miss Potter, I did not mean to startle you or Rubeus.” How Ollivander knew her name Harry did not know, what she did know was that the man’s startling clear blue eyes were shrewd in intensity and practically stared into her soul. Ollivander came closer till he was almost toe-to-toe with Harry, although he did tower over her small form by a considerable height. “You have your mother’s looks you know, red hair, and green eyes. But your curls, they’re your father’s alright.” Ollivander said softly, blue meeting green before Harry nervously broke eye contact. “It seems like only yesterday your mother, Lily, was here, buying her own wand, ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, willow wood and a Unicorn Hair core. Best suited for Charms, yes that wand was a good, stubborn wand.” Ollivander was mumbling to himself by the end of his spiel but Harry grasped at the bit of information she had been given, honestly it was perhaps the most she had ever gotten seeing as the Dursleys didn’t keep photos of anyone but themselves and maybe Petunia with her ‘friends’. From what she had seen of the Witches and Wizards in Diagon Alley, when her eyes could stand the glare of the bright shop signs, their wands were very important with stands selling holsters that declared themselves to be unstealable and perfect for ensuring the safety of your wand, knowing about her mother’s wand made everything seem all the more real, made it seem like Harry did belong.

  “What about my dad?” Harry asked, and she smiled ruefully when Ollivander’s eyes lit up once more.

“Ah yes, James Potter,” The Wandmaker chuckled, “James Potter’s wand, if I recall correctly, was a mahogany wand, Dragon heartstring core. Eleven inches, mildly pliable, and while your mother’s was good for Charms, your father’s wand was better suited for the art of Transfiguration.” Ollivander spoke with slight pomp when he spoke of whatever Transfiguration was, though Harry supposed once she had all of her school books she would be able to find out.

   Harry nodded at Ollivander, thanking him silently, and as she reached up to brush her long fringe behind her ear, Ollivander froze, his breathing stuttering and he shuddered.

                “I sold the wand that did that.” The old man said harshly, all trace of his jovial nature gone. With a start Harry realised he was talking about the scar on her forehead that resembled a bolt of lightning, parts of the strike travelled down the side of her face, past her left eye.  Harry recalled the little Hagrid had told her of her parents’ demise last night when the Dursleys had stopped yelling in the next room. The Wizard who murdered her parents (who had also intended to also murder Harry but couldn’t) had a strange moniker, apparently one of many titles as people refused to even utter his name, Harry found it frightfully silly and was disappointed when Hagrid had blatantly refused to even tell her the first letter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s actual name. Honestly Harry was all for calling this mysterious Wizard ‘He-Who-Has-Too-Many-Bloody-Names-And-Needs-To-Choose-One-And-Stick-To-It’ but Harry would also have to refer to her-self as something like her rendition of the silly name considering the Wizarding world had taken to calling her ‘The-Girl-Who-Lived’, honestly, Harry was a little disappointed in the unoriginality in her title.

   Mr Ollivander said no more on the subject and quickly spun on his heel with surprisingly agility for a man his age, facing Hagrid with a grin once more on his face.

“Ah Rubeus, how lovely to see you. Twelve inches, rather springy, wasn’t it.”

“Indeed it was, Mr Ollivander.” Hagrid chuckled nervously, “a’least until they snapp’d it, o’course.”

Ollivander hummed, settling into a stance where his arms were folded behind his back. “Yes, yes quite sad. You don’t use the pieces now, do you?” He raised a bushy white eyebrow at Hagrid who quickly shook his head, though Harry noticed he did clutch his frilly pink umbrella closer to his side.  Ollivander hummed again, giving Hagrid a careful once-over. 

         “Well now Miss Potter, stand still for me.” Ollivander produced a small metallic measuring tape and Harry was surprised to see the little thing spring to life and flit around her body. “And your wand arm is…” Ollivander trailed off, looking at Harry to fill in the gap.

“Uh I’m left-handed…” The ginger girl winced apologetically, not knowing how Ollivander would react to her not knowing her wand arm. The man merely nodded however, and instructed her to hold out her left arm. The tape quickly took Harry’s measurements under Ollivander’s watchful gaze. Measuring her from shoulder to the tip of her middle finger, shoulder to knee, knee to ankle, shoulder to collarbone, armpit to knee, armpit to ankle and finally around the crown of her head.

  The man nodded in satisfaction, grasping the tape measure which suddenly deactivated in his hand, and flitting towards the back room where Harry could just about make out shelves upon shelves of small, oblong boxes. 

  He quickly shuffled back with multiple of the boxes in his arms which he unceremoniously dropped into the slightly dusty countertop. He rummaged through the pile of non-descript black boxes before pulling one out, and quickly untying the ribbon around the box.

 “Hawthorne with a Unicorn Hair core, eight inches, and mildly flexible. If you’d like to give it a wave.” Harry reached for the dark wood wand, curling her skinny fingers around the slightly rough wand handle, taking note of the runes decorating it. Before anything could happen, Ollivander snatched it back, mumbling about it being incompatible. Another wand was swift thrust under her nose.

 “Oak and Dragon heartstring, 12 inches, quite rigid.” This time Harry hadn’t even gripped the wand before Ollivander was whipping it away once more and haphazardly shoving it back in its box. Mumbling about incorrect cores and silly woods.

   The mound of tried wands was ever growing – the manic gleam in Ollivander’s eyes glowed with some hysterical determination and Hagrid was dozing in the too-small armchair tucked into the corner of the shop. Still, Ollivander appeared happier with each discarded wand, a spring appearing in his limping step.

“You’re a tricky customer Miss Potter, but fear not! Fear not!” The old man crowed and he scurried up a step-stool and pulled down a dusty black wand box. “Now, I haven’t gotten this wand out in nigh on fifty years but never mind that. It is an unusual combination I admit but perhaps, perhaps.” He trailed off, laughing softly as he offered the box to Harry. She gripped the light brown wood gently, warmth rushing through her fingertips – one slightly burnt from a burst of sparks from a previous trial – Harry couldn’t help but gasp slightly. She raised the wand and jabbed it in front of her, red and gold sparks flew out and she grinned at the pure sense of right. Hagrid startled in his chair with a snort but began to clap enthusiastically with Ollivander.

  Harry had found her wand. Eleven inches. Holly wood and phoenix feather. Supple and springy.

 

    “It is most curious though.” Ollivander murmured as Harry handed over ten gold Galleons for the wand and the custom holster, now strapped to her left forearm so the wand could drop into her grip. “The phoenix that gave me the feather for this one, also gave another. It is curious my dear girl, that you should end up with this wand, when the brother wand gave you that scar.” Harry froze slightly. Her wand’s brother belonged to the man who had killed her parents.  She swallowed loudly, Ollivander was lost in his memories and he recounted the details of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s wand. “Thirteen and a half inches, Yew if I recall correctly. Strange how these things happen, no?” Harry thought it best not to reply. “Still,” Ollivander continued, pinning Harry with an azure gaze. “We can expect great things from you, Miss Potter, for all that the things He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did were terrible acts – they were still great…”

    Harry was all to glad when Ollivander merely bowed afterwards and Hagrid escorted her from Ollivander’s shop. Hopefully she would not need to return.

 

*

 

“Might as well get yer’ uniform now I s’pose.” Hagrid mused, watching Harry store the last of the shrunken books into her satchel, the man at the counter in Florish and Blotts had helpfully told Harry the spell and its counter-spell so she would be able to perform it on her own and get her belongings back to their regular size. Hagrid nodded towards a nice blue shop front, declaring it to be ‘ _Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions_ ’. “But would ya’ mind if I nipped off to tha’ cauldron for a drink?” Honestly Harry didn’t mind too much, in fact she would have felt mildly uncomfortable to have Hagrid there whilst she was being fitted.

“No, I can do it myself, don’t worry.” Harry said, beaming at Hagrid to further emphasise that she was perfectly fine on her own. The giant nodded and lumbered off in the direction of the dingy Leaky Cauldron, Harry hoped that if he did end up getting drunk that he’d be nothing like Uncle Vernon when intoxicated. The faded pink marks on Harry’s back gave a phantom twinge of pain as she stepped over the threshold into Madam Malkin’s.  A nice bell chime sounded around the shop and a small woman dressed in purple robes hurried the greet Harry.

  “Well hello there, Hogwarts too I imagine.” The badge pinned to her large bosom declared the witch to be Madam Malkin herself.

“Yes, I’m going to be a first year.” Harry answered, flushing at Malkin’s cooing.

“Follow me then dearie, we’ll get you sorted.” Harry was slightly bewildered as she was hustled further into the shop in a swirl of purple fabric.  Harry found herself stood on a podium in a large space full of other unoccupied podiums, her eyes fixed on a dart of movement by her right side which happened to be a hovering tape measure not unlike the one Ollivander had used.  Malkin then bustled over, running a reproachful eye over Harry’s clothing.

   “Uh, Madam Malkin,” Harry started awkwardly, her nervousness abating at the warm smile on the older Witch’s face, “I was wondering, is it possibly to get some other clothes apart from my uniform, I’ve got enough money.” Harry hurried to say, reaching for her satchel on the floor where the coin purse was.

“Of course it is dearie; we’ll get you a catalogue after we get your robes sorted.” And with that, a large black robe was slung carelessly over Harry’s head, swallowing her small frame in a laughable manner. Madam Malkin bustled around Harry, the pins already pinning themselves to the right length while Malkin rolled up her sleeves. 

   In what seemed like no time at all, Malkin had whisked away the robes to be altered properly and returned with a small catalogue. It appeared as though she had already bookmarked a few pages with fluorescent paper.

  “Now, may I ask about any colour preferences you have?” As Malkin presented the catalogue, Harry couldn’t help but think back to when anyone had every asked such a basic question as her favourite colour. It wasn’t as though any of the children at school ever spoke to her, for fear of Dudley most likely, and after her first day, it seemed as though the teachers never really noticed her, well, until she turned Mrs Roger’s hair blue.

  “I like blue and green.” She answered, flicking through the catalogue in her hands. Madam Malkin smiled and led Harry over to a couple of squishy looking armchairs.

“Well then dearie, shall we see what we can find?”


End file.
